


Mission Accomplished

by magickmoons



Series: Always [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post Season/Series 08, Romance, Texts From Last Night Ficathon, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickmoons/pseuds/magickmoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(585): He's such a gentleman. He didn't even ask why my bra was flung on the seat of my car. He just took my snow brush, pushed it onto the floor and said, "Let's go I'm hungry.".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mission Accomplished

**Author's Note:**

> Season 9-ish

Sam stared at the parking lot in dismay. It was unbelievable. Here she was sunburned, sandburned, and running very late, and she walked out of the mountain to find that apparently a blizzard had visited the Springs sometime over the past week. She trudged out to her car, brushed the snow off her trunk lock with a gloved hand, and grabbed the snow brush.

Under the inches of snow was a layer of ice. She groaned as switched the tool to start attacking the ice. Why did this mission have to run long? Why did it have to snow this week? It was like the galaxy was conspiring against her. Something had come up every weekend. It seemed impossible that it was just coincidence. But then again, her life was a series of impossible events.

Finally, getting the driver’s side door mostly clear, she opened the door and started the car, letting it run while she went to work on the other windows. Pretty soon, she was wincing every time she moved her arm. During the walk back to the gate on that barren dust bowl of a desert planet, grains of sand had insinuated themselves under her clothing, rubbing her shoulders raw under the straps of her pack. Her current activity had her bra straps rubbing the raw skin with each movement.

Looking around the deserted parking lot, she pulled off her coat and quickly maneuvered her bra off and out from under her shirt, throwing the lacy garment through the open car door. She returned to chipping at the layers of ice, slightly more comfortable but growing more anxious as the time passed and she seemed to make little to no progress. There was no way she was getting to the restaurant on time.

A car pulled down the aisle a few minutes later, but Sam didn’t pay much attention to it as she vented her frustration into the ice. She finally looked up when it came to a stop behind her car and the back door opened. Out stepped Jack O’Neill, looking entirely too calm and put-together for someone who had just flown over 2/3 of the country, watching her with an amused twinkle in his eye. She whirled back to the car and started chipping at it with renewed vigor.

Jack stood and watched her for a minute, reacquainting himself with how she moved, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating (especially when she was concentrating on ignoring him), the way her hair bounced and caught the fading evening light, all those things that a photo on the nightstand just couldn’t convey. The call from Daniel had caught him on the way to the restaurant; his former teammate didn’t want him worrying when Sam was late. Too anxious to see her, smell her, feel her in his arms, he had diverted the driver to the Mountain.

Finally conceding that she was too keyed up to acknowledge him voluntarily, he walked carefully over the thin ice, past where she was attacking the rear window, and leaned into the car to turn it off and remove the keys. Seeing a red, lacy bra laying half on the passenger seat made his eyebrows lift a little and he looked back at her with a grin. The tense, frustrated look on her face made him rethink the flippant remark on the tip of his tongue. He grabbed the emergency blanket she kept on the backseat and dropped it over the bra. No point in the entire base getting a chance to see Carter’s unmentionables while her car remained here this weekend.

He stood up to see her staring at him. He knew that expression all too well. It was the one she got after a rough mission, physically or emotionally, when she had too much pent up emotion and no outlet. He stepped in front of her, gently took the ice scraper she was wielding almost like a weapon and dropped it behind the driver’s seat, and folded his arms around her.

She stood stiff and unmoving at first. Weeks without seeing him, the Ori, the damn sand.  Each was a layer of tension running throughout her being. He just stood there, rubbing her back, not speaking, not expecting anything. Soon, she felt the slightest break in her resolve, the anger and frustration starting to seep out of her muscles. A smile crossed his face as he felt her lean into him and bring her arms up around him.

After another minute, he whispered in her ear, “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

She chuckled, still sounding just on the edge of hysteria, but let him lead her to the waiting car and settle her in the back seat. He slid in next to her and gave the driver a murmured instruction to proceed to the restaurant. Sam slid down in her seat, resting her head against the seat back, and closed her eyes until they arrived at the restaurant.

Candlelight, good wine, good food, and Jack seemed to be a magic combination. They talked in low voices as they enjoyed their meal, sharing the few stories from their lives that were fit for public consumption, their fingers dancing together across the table.

After their entrees, Jack asked, “So, dessert?”

“Oh yes, but not here,” she purred, a wicked light in her eyes making his breath catch in his throat. She leaned forward, her v-neck sweater providing a tantalizing reminder of what she had left in her car. “Let’s go, General. I’m hungry.”


End file.
